


the song of the stars (and how they fall)

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Codependency, Gallifrey, Gen, Insanity, Loneliness, M/M, The Doctor has always been mad but he does not let it drive him, The Doctor on His Own, The Master's madness is contagious because it's founded, Timelords are scars leftover from a much too large tragedy, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:32:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: They always find each other. The Doctor and the Master: the runaway hero and the mad survivor.





	the song of the stars (and how they fall)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



> When you realize the darkest timeline might actually be the canonical one in the case of Doctor Who. Wow. Maybe.
> 
> For @tigriswolf because she gave me this prompt: the song of the stars (and how they fall), and I wrote the beginnings of this nearly, if not, a year ago. I edited and extended it, so now time to post it here!
> 
> I own nothing at all, enjoy!

They always find each other.

Every time - no matter how hard The Doctor tries to fight it, to destroy the inevitability the universe has doomed him to, to try to play good a little better than he had bad - they always find each other: the Doctor and the Master, the runaway hero and the mad survivor. 

They always manage to circle back into each other’s orbits, each more wrecked this time than the last.

They are the one constant in each other’s lives and it’s a cruel kind of irony, the kind that burns him - each of them - from the inside out, that they hate each other more than they miss the comforts of home.

The Master spits insults and kills when he just wants to be sane, and The Doctor tries to save anyone he can because saved is the only thing he will never be. 

And it continues this way, tearing themselves and each other down with words spoken in a nearly forgotten tongue until it finds a place on theirs: always positioned as a weapon where it used to be a tool of peace, as a spear ready to strike rather than a blessing to be bestowed. 

Because they are good at this, the Doctor knows, at taking each other’s weaknesses, entrusted to them in times of goodwill and bad judgment, and throwing them back in each other’s faces. At yelling failures across graveyards, speaking of genocides in empty space, of falling and falling with no one left but each other to catch them.

.

  
They don’t talk about former glory. Friends and family are too close to home, off limits most of the time, and the Master doesn’t mind, he prefers picking fun at the Doctor’s latest race of pets more than anything. 

The Doctor doesn’t tell him what a relief it is to hear a human name in place of a Gallifreyan’s. 

But he thinks the Master knows, remembers the time between them when words became too close to weapons. 

When  _ Sheavajka _ took the place of Donna or Martha or Rose, and the Doctor had stumbled. His knees caving as he tried to catch his balance, body falling into itself like an exploding star.

There are not many times he is able to recognize regret in the Master’s eyes. That was one of the few. 

.

The Master laughs, says, “You will never be free of me.”

And The Doctor hears,  _ you will never be free of the chains you created yourself _ . Hears,  _ you will never be free of what you damned me to.  _

Hears,  _ you destroyed millions but won’t set me free. _

The Doctor collects the guilt, and lets it  _weigh_. 

.

The Doctor says, “We were friends once,” and the Master smiles, wicked and broken, and if the Doctor looks close enough he swears he can see remnants of a battle fought and lost in his eyes. 

The Doctor says, tries, “We could be again,” reaching, and plummeting as the Master laughs, a resounding cackle echoing over and over in his mind each time more broken than the last, and the Doctor tries not to think too much about the pieces he’s left scattered with each of them. 

“Once,” the Master says, wicked and insane and with too cruel of a fate, gesturing to both of them and the pieces they are broken into, the parts they scatter of each other, and how too many of them dwell in a part of the Universe long gone, “once, seems to have been enough.”

.

Memories blur, fade around the edges where they were once sharp. The Doctor thinks maybe it's the price they pay for living so long, each regeneration taking with old skin the edges of memories, causing them to forget pieces of what they hold so dear.  

The Master had laughed as The Doctor postulated the theory, torn somewhere between his fifth and sixth regeneration.

“Well, what a price,” The Master said, rolling his eyes. But there was something akin to worry hidden in the cracks of laughter. The Doctor knew, even then, not to test such wicked waters.

.

Sometimes, they arrange meetings just to confer on names and faces, to try to remember what they lost.

Sometimes, they talk each other into streams of nonsense just to fill the silence they refuse to name.

.

When they meet again - somewhere between the Doctor’s ninth and tenth regeneration, still just as wounded, just as torn open and worn, but he learns to hide it better - The Master finds him traveling with others once more. 

New companions, new journeys, new pathways to take trying to forget. 

Running, running, running, always and quick, as far away as the universe will allow. To the edges and back around, so much to see, too little to remember. 

The Master sees him, sees Roses and Marthas and distraction after distraction fighting over pieces of an already shattered heart, and he’s furious.

The Doctor wants to call it an almost righteous anger, but bites his tongue, recalling too many stories of fallen gods and the broken beings left in their place. Remembers too many stories of blazing gods and what the fire did to them.

The Master grins, mad and angry and so so alone when he asks, “Do you remember the summers? How the wind would blow through the trees and the hills would sing?” repeating one of the Doctor’s stories back to him, and the Doctor nods, tries to steady himself while his heart wilts, because he does and he will never be able to forget.

“Of course,” he whispers, “and you?”   


“No,” The Master says and his eyes grow more distant with every visit, absence replacing fury in a breath, and oh how the guilt weighs. 

The Master looks at him like he’s transparent, another ghost for his mind to haunt him with. 

“No,” The Master says, void and angry and consuming and so alone, “I think the watch stole those to.”    


And he should be used to it by now, but when the Master bends over and begins to sob - alone and angry and mad; growing in the place where the companions only seem to shrink - something thick makes home in his throat and both his hearts clench with each beat.

.

“Do you remember your name?” The Doctor asks him once, regenerations blending into each other, companion-less, alone where he should never be.

The Master laughs, falls back, and lying under the stars - insanity dulled by tolerance, by companionship, by anything but suffocating loneliness. Eyes reflecting starlight for once rather than a burning planet - he’s beautiful. The Doctor turns his face back towards the sky.

“It’s the only thing I will never be able to forget,” The Master says. And then, “sometimes I think that’s a curse.”

The Doctor hums, “There are far too many of those for us- suspected curses, that is.”

The Master kicks up a leg into the sky, reaching, and snickers.

“Maybe,” The Master shrugs, “maybe that’s what happens when you live too long: you begin to believe in things like fate and rulers of the Universe.”

The Master lets out a breath, “You begin to believe you’re something other than alone.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and Kudos are appreciated. I'm rhymesofblue on tumblr. Come talk Doctor Who meta with me.


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